


Broken Promises

by KysisTheBard



Series: Bitter Sirens [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drama, Espionage, M/M, Psychological Warfare, Science Boyfriends, social unrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KysisTheBard/pseuds/KysisTheBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tensions are rising after the alien invasion, and the world is not satisfied with the fact that Loki was taken back to Asgard.  Protests are starting, and if something does not happen, they are bound to turn into full out riots.  What is Nick Fury willing to do to stop that from happening and will the other Avengers be okay with his decision?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crashing Down

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to part 3! I'm actually really excited for this, since the relationship between Bruce and Tony has already kicked off, and there are a lot of big changes in the future. It's actually really exciting.

For the first time in what felt like years, his hands were still. His fingers did not twitch with the need for constant movement, stretching for something to occupy them. Tony stared at his hands, resting palms down on the metal table. He did not feel the immediate urge to pick up a tool, to contort and bend metal to his will, to scrawl out countless equations or tweak and tailor designs.

For once, his hands were still.

Tony walked around his workshop, looking over all the projects scattered about, each at different levels of completion. The parts were there, ready to be made, fitted into place, tested, but right now, he did not move for any of them. Right now, he was merely taking stock. And wondering.

This was… different. Tony pursed his lips, standing near the wall, where he could survey everything at once. Nothing called to him. Nothing begged him to come and work.

“Sir, Miss Potts is requesting entry.”

Tony sat down on a chair, arms crossed as he stared blankly across the mechanical dunes of his workshop. He would trudge for days through the desert of half-cocked ideas to find that one oasis, that one breakthrough, the completed project, but right now, his attention was divided.

The afterglow made everything soft around the edges, hazy. He couldn’t see any of the projects clearly right now, even if he tried.

“Let her in.”

The door clicked as it unlocked. Pepper immediately came inside, clipboard under her arm. He’d offered to give her a tablet, but she insisted upon doing everything the old fashioned way. She stopped a few paces from him, fiddling with her clipboard for a moment before finally leveling it before her.

“You were at the board meeting this morning.” Pepper stared at the page before her, pen poised over it, ready to strike. It reminded him of a venomous snake. “From what I hear, it went very well.”

Tony could hear the surprise. He glanced over with a frown, arms still crossed. “What?”

“It was at eight in the morning, you were more than civil, they even called you charming. And perfectly groomed. And sober.” Pepper gave him an accusatory glance, then looked back down at the clipboard again.

“What?” Tony swiveled on his chair to more fully look at her. She was standing as stiff as a statue, and not just from the three inch spike heels. He knew her well enough that he could tell when she was irritated. Or outright furious.

Pepper didn’t explain, pen slowly scanning down the paper, whatever that was. He assumed it was a schedule.

“Tomorrow you have lunch with the mayor. Also, the sitting president of M.I.T. was hoping he could have a phone conference with you sometime in the afternoon.”

“Schedule it.”

Pepper wrote something quickly on her page, lips still pulled in a disapproving line. He could practically feel the disapproval radiating off her in waves. It was making him uncomfortable.

“Pep, what?”

She tapped her pen on the clipboard, her carefully pulled expression bending into a small frown.

“I didn’t tell you about the board meeting.”

Tony gave a little shrug. “I know when they are.”

“Usually I have to remind you, constantly, and even then you might miss it.”

“I don’t see your point.”

Pepper let out a little huff, mostly restrained, then stared down at her clipboard even harder. Her knuckles were turning white.

Tony stood, making another slow round of his workshop, looking for something, anything, begging to be worked on. If Pepper had anything pressing, she already would have said it. She knew the way out.

“Director Fury wants a meeting with you.”

Or not.

Tony stopped next to the partial arm piece of what would be the Mark VIII. Fury wanted a private meeting was never good. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes. “When?”

“As soon as possible.”

Tony hung his head. As far as his schedule went, he had no other obligations for the day. He wanted to have a private dinner with Bruce, but other than that…

“Schedule it.”

Pepper turned, stalking out of the room.

So much for basking in the afterglow for a little while longer.

0 0 0 0 0

 

“What are you doing?” Natasha paused in the hallway, a hand resting lightly on the wall beside her. She quirked her head slightly, taking in the transformed common room. Gaudy banners hung on the walls, bright colors with a false metallic sheen. The room was decorated for a going away party.

Steve stepped down from the chair he was standing on, a box of thumb tacks in one hand, half a banner in the other. He grinned, looking down with just the slightest flush to his cheeks.

“Well, I…” Steve went to rub the back of his neck, almost dropping the dangling banner. He lunged for it, catching the end before it pulled up all his hard work. Natasha sighed, stepping over to help him. He gave a small smile, stepping back up on the chair. “Thor’s going back to Asgard tomorrow and I thought we should do something for him.”

“That’s nice.” Natasha tried to smile, but she knew it wouldn’t reach her eyes. That was fine. Steve was gullible. “Is everyone invited?”

“Of course.”

“Have you told anyone yet?”

Steve kept pinning up the last of the banner, not answering. She quirked a red brow, pursing her lips. “You should probably do that. We all have busy schedules.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Natasha handed up the last bit of the banner, heading back into the kitchen, her original intent.

0 0 0 0 0

He sat there, perfectly still, elbows on the arm rests. Slowly, he put the tips of his fingers together, bouncing them off one another. The activity of the S.H.I.E.L.D. floor was only a muffled din beyond the door, making the silence in the office even more overwhelming. Tony frowned, keeping his gaze level, staring straight at Fury. He still wasn’t sure if he should stare at the eye or the patch, so he opted for both.

“Tell me, Stark, have you reconsidered my offer?”

Tony leaned back in his chair, bringing one of his legs up. He drummed on his exposed sock for a moment, not breaking the stare-down. He absolutely refused to be the first one to look away.

“What offer?”

“Don’t play dumb, Stark.” Fury leaned forward, leather chair creaking loudly. Or maybe that was just his jacket. “We are looking to reopen Phase 2—”

“On that note,” Tony stood sharply, smoothing out his suit as he did so, “I’m leaving.”

“You haven’t even—”

“I heard enough.” Tony redid one button on his blazer, tugging at the lapels a little to straighten it all out. “I do not make weapons anymore, Fury. Nor does Stark Industries.”

“Stark—”

“Give me a call if you want to convert the helicarrier over to arc reactor power or something.” Tony spun on his heel, sauntering straight for the door.

“The U.N. and Nato aren’t happy with the Avengers Initiative. They feel like it isn’t enough, if another threat did come.”

Tony paused, hand on the doorknob. He wasn’t expecting Fury to surrender any information, much less an inkling of S.H.I.E.L.D. inner workings and motivations. The man’s secrets had secrets. But there it was.

“As I already said, nuclear deterrent isn’t the best route.”

Fury sat back in his chair again, arms crossed. Tony could only see the man’s frown from the corner of his eye and it was giving him the chills.

“We done here?”

Fury let out a sigh, giving a little wave. “How about you call me if your hands get antsy for a little destruction again?”

Tony yanked the door open, storming out.


	2. Friends and Enemies

It was the first time their dysfunctional little family had gotten together with all members present, and Steve was quietly proud at being the one to instigate it. He’d decorated the room (with only a little bit of help) and invited everyone and even talked to the resident chef about making a big meal for everyone, though she needed Mr. Stark’s approval to comply.

She’d gotten approval, and now there was a massive meal laid out on the round table, the colors vibrant and the smell enticing enough to even get a nod of approval from Mr. Stark, who honestly didn’t seem to care about food one way or another.

“Is this truly all in my name?”

Steve smiled, rubbing at the back of his neck before he could stop himself. It was a nervous habit he needed to check. He let out a little laugh—another one of those habits—finally forcing himself to look up at Thor.

The big, blond Asgardian looked surprised, at least a little bit through all the seriousness on his face. A lot was happening for him, Steve completely understood that, but he was hoping he could at least make Thor feel at home, appreciated, maybe even get that big smile to come out. He’d heard that Thor had a friendly smile, but he’d yet to actually see it.

“Yeah. I mean, we don’t know when we’re going to see you next, so…”

“What he’s trying to say is that it’s kind of an Earth tradition to send a person off with a party.” Mr. Stark stepped forward, voice loud, demanding attention. Steve frowned, but didn’t correct him. Stark was right. “Here.” Stark put a bottle in front of Thor, gesturing to it with one of his patented smiles. Thor actually tried to smile back.

Steve fought not to roll his eyes. They were all getting along. For once. He couldn’t blow this.

“It’s a… celebration to remember us by. Until you come back.” Steve smiled as well, only garnering a nod from the Asgardian.

“Thank you, Captain, and all of you as well. It means much to me to know I will be missed in my absence.”

Everyone gave their assent and sat down, digging in to the food. It was every bit as delicious as it looked, and by the end of it, everyone was smiling, even Clint.

0 0 0 0 0

Bruce took off his glasses, blinking rapidly as his eyes watered. He’d been staring at the scene entirely too long. None of it was making sense anymore. He sighed, saving all his progress and closing it out. “I think it’s time to call it a night.”

Tony hopped off the worktable, setting down the tool he was fiddling with. “Sounds good.”

Bruce paused, hand hovering on the glass screen. Normally when Bruce called it a night, Tony kept working. It was a horrible habit, and Bruce teased him about it, but nothing had changed. Well, until now.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Perfect.” Tony smiled, and Bruce felt it warm him all the way through. He looked down with a small smile of his own, finally pushing the computer terminal away.

“I… I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Bruce…”

Bruce looked up, worry his first reflex. He was always worried, hands fiddling with his reading glasses, gaze locking with Tony’s. He saw the look in those eyes, warm and so open, just for him to see. He had nothing to worry about, smiling apologetically.

“Stay with me?”

That wasn’t… Bruce started rubbing the lenses of his glasses, focusing on them. “I am. I mean, I just live a few floors down, and I’m not going anywhere—”

“That’s not what I meant.” Tony shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking up on his feet. He almost looked like a nervous kid asking a girl on a first date. It was cute. “I’m not really too good at the sleeping thing, and if you’re there…”

Oh. Bruce held a hand out, Tony staring at it for a few moments, like he didn’t know what to do with it. Bruce just waited, patient as ever, trying his best to smile confidently. That wasn’t really his turf, it was Tony’s, but someone had to do it right now.

“What are you waiting for?”

Tony took his hand slowly, wrapping their fingers together. He squeezed, relief loosening the tension Bruce could see in his shoulders. For the first time, Bruce got to see Tony’s bedroom in the penthouse. It was luxurious, but simple, without a lot of clutter or personal things. It didn’t look lived in.

The way Tony curled around him protectively in the bed, arc reactor both strangely cold and warm against his back, he knew Tony wanted to change that.

0 0 0 0 0

He passed his hand over his face, lifting errant strands of raven hair from his field of vision. The image of the Bifrost before him, glowing with his own radiant energy, shivered for a moment, shaking where it hung suspended in the middle of his chambers.

At some point, the light beyond his spacious windows had faded, leaving just the flickering flames at his room’s entrance and the light of the projection itself, a headache blossoming behind his eyes because of it.

Loki let out a slow sigh, rubbing his fingertips against his eyelids. When he looked again, the diagram of the Bifrost was just a blur. He sliced his arm through it, the light dissipating in one fell swoop. The flames at the entrance flickered with the shift of power, guards moving uncomfortably.

“Are you finished for the night?”

He turned sharply, gaze shooting for the door. Thor stood framed by it, the light of the hall making him no more than a silhouette. Loki knew that form, though, knew that voice. He stood slightly straighter, lifting his chin proudly. “Perhaps. What of it?”

Thor lingered in the door, the tense air of uncertainty hovering about him. Loki frowned, taking a step closer.

“I did not expect your return to be so swift.”

“There was no point in lingering on Midgard when there is so much to attend to here.”

Loki raised an eyebrow at that. He had expected his br—Thor—to remain on Midgard at least long enough to visit the mortal he had grown so attached to. That was most intriguing. “Have you taken food, yet?”

Thor shook his head. “No.”

He could not believe he was actually doing this. Loki collected himself, stepping towards the door. “Then perhaps we can sup together? I have yet to eat, either, and it has been a rather long day.”

Thor broke into a bright grin, agreeing without a second thought. As always, Thor went first, and would ask later, only in hindsight. That was fine by Loki. He was not quite sure what his plan was yet, but there would be one.

They went to the kitchens, gathering leftover food from the palace meal that night. There was not much, but it would be enough to suffice. Thor rolled it all in a cloth, carrying it and a jug of mead as they walked.

The construction site of the new Bifrost was deserted, empty as the night fell upon Asgard inky black, nebulas spinning like dazzling ribbons overhead. It felt like it had been eons since he and Thor had gone out there on the Bifrost at night and shared a meal under the stars. While he was not entirely comfortable with the familiarity of it, he forced any complaints back.

It was only once they were in the process of eating the thinly carved meats, roast greens and bread that Loki dared break the precarious silence between them, choosing a topic he knew Thor would be keen to discuss.

“Before your departure, you promised to tell me of your comrades.”

Thor looked up sharply, smiling around a mouthful of food. He quickly swallowed, no doubt forgetting to chew it all the way, and took a swig of mead to remedy that. He offered out the jug out, Loki waving it off. He wished to keep his mind perfectly clear for this. It was not often he was willingly offered information about his enemies.

“Who do you wish me to start with?”

“The metal man.” Loki answered to quickly, it seemed, as Thor gave him a frown. Loki ignored it. “He is an intellectual equal. Am I not allowed curiosity?”

Thankfully, Thor did not answer that, instead taking another swig of the jug, starting his tale.

And what a tale it was. A man who had created a new technology to keep himself alive, secluded and isolated, with only scraps? A man who had created an element never seen upon Midgard before when none of those local would suit his purposes?

For the first time in years, Loki did not interrupt his brother once, listening in silence as Thor spun his tale, even if the blond did not understand half of it. That was fine. Loki understood all too well.


	3. The Calm Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is kind of a short chapter, and for that, I'm sorry. And also for how long it took me to write it. My muses have really been elsewhere. Oops!

Clint took in a deep breath, pulling back the bow string. The fingers of his left hand quivered, finger-guard digging in to calloused fingertips. He reached back, hooking his fingers on the left side of his jaw. His right eye closed, right staring down the arrow at the target down the range.

He lifted slightly, adjusting for distance. Letting out his breath, he released.

The arrow flew, hitting the tiny red X on the target with a distance-muffled thud.

Not pausing, Clint drew another arrow. Normal tip. Aluminum-titanium alloy shaft. He repeated the process, only having the arrow drawn for a moment before releasing with the whoosh of his breath.

With a grinding shriek, the arrow split its predecessor, splintering it around the new shaft.

Clint finally cracked a self-satisfied smirk, lowering his compound bow. He slapped the button on the half-wall beside him. With a mechanical whir, the target was pulled towards him on pulleys. Clint yanked it down, setting it with the others.

He'd nailed it ten times in a row. If that wasn't satisfying, Clint didn't know what could be.

Clint hung up another target, pressing the button. It powered back into place, Clint drawing back again, sending the arrow into the little x while the target moved backwards. He drew, firing. Split. He drew again, firing one more time. It only split halfway down. Still good enough.

The target clicked into place, hanging there, already filled with three arrows all on the same tiny point. 

“Impressive.”

Clint lowered his bow, gaze sliding over though he didn’t turn his head. He knew it was Natasha, assumed she would be in the black of her uniform if she was out in at the training facilities. She stepped into the lane next to his, eyes barely above the line of the partial wall between them. Even so, he could see the smile in her eyes.

She put on the safety goggles, then the obnoxious blue earmuffs. Clint sighed, putting his own on. He’d been the only one in the range, so it hadn’t really mattered, but now that someone else was here…

A human shaped target drifted back from her lane, swinging on the pulley system. She lifted her gun, Clint hearing the muffled click as she loaded a clip and cocked it.

Clint hit his button again, and his target starting back the moment hers clicked into place. He pulled down his last target in time to see her shots.

Each bullet clipped through a place with an artery, starting with the legs, the arms, then the neck. Each shot was enough to be fatal. The last bullet was between the eyes. She glanced over with a smile.

“Very nice.”

Tasha rolled her eyes, pressing her button. Clint had only brought fifteen boards down with him, so he was done. He craned his head, glancing over the wall. Seemed like Tasha had only brought the one.

She took off her earmuffs, hanging them. She pulled down her target and rounded the station, helping with his without even asking. As per protocol, they’d have to turn them in. Between the two of them, they got all the targets at once.

There was something wrong. Tasha was always good at hiding it, but he could tell.

“What’s—”

“There is a small group of protestors outside of Stark Tower.” She spoke in clipped tones, not even missing a beat as she slung the targets up onto the counter. The man working it just stared. They were both used to it by now. “They were there last night, in time for the evening news to interview them. There are more now because of it.”

“What do they want?”

Natasha looked down, red lips pursed. “Accountability.”

0 0 0 0 0

“…is partly cloudy with a thirty percent chance of afternoon showers.”

Tony let out a long yawn, stretching. That felt good. He sat up slowly, soft sheets pooling around his waist. Jarvis had the weather report displayed on the floor to ceiling windows, right next to the stock market report for Stark Industries.

“Good morning, Sirs. I was wondering when you might return to the land of the living.”

Tony opened his mouth to shoot something back, but stopped, glancing down. Bruce was lying next to him, glasses perched on his nose, tablet in his hands. Oh wow. “How long have you been up?”

Bruce gave a small smile. “Not too long.” He kept moving stuff around the screen, looking uninterested but concentrating fully on it. Tony glanced at the screen, then sighed. He needed coffee before he could deal with this.

Standing, he stretched again, walking past the windows. Jarvis changed the display as he went, pulling up the morning news. He wasn’t interested. “Jarvis, get some coffee on.”

“It is already finished brewing, Sir. I believe you will need it today.”

Tony stopped, turning. The projection on the glass ended, revealing Manhattan beyond that. Tony approached the window slowly, frowning. Everything looked normal. It was a little overcast, but that was good. They really needed the rain.

He stepped to the edge, toes touching the cold glass. Tony touched his forehead to the window, looking down.

The streets were clogged around the Tower, writhing with movement. Tony frowned, squinting. It looked like they were holding signs.

“Jarvis, what the hell is going on down there?”

“I believe that is what’s called a protest.”

Tony closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. He never should have made Jarvis sarcastic. “Jarvis, I was a complete rundown of the situation.” Tony stepped away from the window, looking back to Bruce. He was sitting up now, worry flashing across his features.

He knew what he was thinking. People had come for him before. They had come for Tony before, too, though in different ways. That was a few years ago. He frowned. He was definitely going to need that coffee.


	4. Plan of Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something hit me like a blinding flash today. I realized I was stalling. Trying to hold off the coming storm. Well, no more holding back now. Sorry guys. It was nice and all, but I was really doing this story no justice. So let’s get on with it.

He was the last one to enter the meeting room, tablet tucked under his arm, coffee cup held like a weapon before him, still steaming despite the long trek there. Everyone turned to look at him, each with a different expression, though really, they made up a startling whole.

Steve was worried. It shown bright in his blue eyes, in the tension on his face. His fingers were crossed together, no doubt to stop himself from fidgeting like a child about to get grounded.

Natasha was interested. Her face was completely blank, but there was the slightest purse to her lips, a glint in her own eyes, which spoke volumes. She wanted to see what was about to happen, even if she wasn’t about to start jumping up and down.

Clint might as well have been jumping up and down. His shoulders were jolting just slightly, enough to tell him the archer’s leg was bouncing under the table. His expression perked up a little at Tony’s entrance, though not with excitement. It was closer to apprehension.

Agent Maria Hill was giving him the same sort of look people gave venomous snakes, coiled and ready for an attack.

Bruce’s pinched, worried expression softened a little at his entrance, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He quickly looked down again, polishing his glasses, a nervous habit which drew a few glances from the others who were still tiptoeing around him like a land mine.

Tony took this all in without skipping a step, walking right up to the front of the room where Nick Fury was standing. The man’s face was hard as usual, with the ‘you better not be wasting our time’ look radiating off him. Tony quirked an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of his coffee with a smirk.

“Take a seat.”

“Stark, this had better be—”

“I said take a seat.” Tony repeated himself, not even glancing at the man. He didn’t have time for this. Tony set his tablet down at the head of his table, not relinquishing his coffee yet. He’d been running for a day straight, and the number of people out in the street around the tower had only doubled.

This needed to get this done now.

Finally, Fury rounded the table, taking up the chair next to Bruce, where Tony would normally be. That’s where he wanted to be, but there were more pressing matters.

Tony glanced at the wall sized screen behind him, frowning at the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo behind him. It reminded him of the Iron Eagle of Germany. Frown deepening, he finally set his cup down with one last sip, fingers flying on his tablet.

Agent Hill sat forward, watching closely, or at least trying to. Tony knew he was moving between screens to fast for her to know what he was doing.

A dialogue box popped up on the screen behind him, reading in bold letters ‘Greetings, Mr. Stark’. Tony quirked a half-smirk, continuing to type. He put a still shot of the protest up on the screen to start with, straightening.

“So, as you all should have noticed by this point, there is a protest going on outside.” Tony gestured at the screen, turning to look at it himself. There were all sorts of people in that crowd, some in corporate suits, others in what looked like multi-generation hand-me-downs. Every color, every creed. It was a nice sampling of the American melting pot, really.

There was a discordant kind of assent in the room, everyone affirming in their own way. Fury’s was a displeased grunt, just fueling Tony to keep going.

“This protest started three, maybe four days ago? Not really sure on the timeline yet. Speaking of a timeline,” Tony looked pointedly at Natasha, “this isn’t really the start of it at all, is it?”

Fury sat forward, exchanging a look with Agent Hill. He didn’t like that at all.

Tony bent, typing again. The images changed, to a grainy photograph of one Natasha Romanoff walking into an old monastery in what could only be described a dress-suit. It was the same sort of stuff she wore while she was posing as a Stark Industries employee.

“A few months ago, our very own Agent Romanoff was off in Paris—”

“This is classified material, Mr. Stark.” Fury moved to stand, Tony quickly pointing straight at him with a glare.

“Don’t start with me, Fury.”

“More than that, this is sensitive material. You can’t just—”

“Oh come on.” Tony grabbed his cup, taking another swig. It was almost empty. He should have brought a thermos. “Let’s go a round, right now. I’m confident I’ve got more dirt on you than you have on me. Take the shot.”

Silence fell over the room. Tony could practically feel the tension. He took another sip of his coffee, letting his gaze drift over everyone. No one would look at either of them.

Finally, Fury sat back in his seat, watching impatiently.

Tony didn’t have to be told twice.

“Natasha was in Paris, where there was a meeting of nations. She was inserted into these meetings to keep an eye out on what’s going on. Because really, what’s the point of having spies if you don’t use them?” Tony winked at Natasha, getting an eye roll in response. He went back to typing, pulling up her full, unedited report to S.H.I.E.L.D., which she submitted upon returning to NYC.

Agent Hill looked absolutely alarmed, but didn’t speak up. Good girl.

Tony straightened, waving his coffee cup at the screen. “In this report, it states that there is a lot of strife going on right now. And I don’t mean the usual ‘who has the bigger dick’ stuff. No. This is the ‘one guy has too big of a dick and we need to put a stop to’ it kind of talk.”

No one even flinched at his phraseology. He was kind of disappointed, but didn’t have time to linger on it.

Tony flipped the screen back to the reports of protests, not just the one currently raging outside the Stark Tower, but ones all over the United States, across Europe, the Middle East, Asia, Africa.

“As you can all see, this is getting a little out of hand.” Tony finished his coffee, rolling his lips together, savoring the last drops. He set his cup down, crossing his arms. “Each demonstration is a little different, but they are all really saying the same thing.”

“Do you care to enlighten us on what that is, Stark?”

“Checks and balances.” Tony shot a glare at Fury, practically begging him to talk again. The Director didn’t, though, watching with actual interest now. Tony was glad he’d finally gotten the man’s undivided attention. “Yeah, so there was an alien attack. Cool. People don’t care. What they care about is there was a secret government organization that just so happened to have a team of super-humans hidden away to stop it.”

Clint grated out a sigh. Tony was right there with him on it. He’d been through this dance before.

“People don’t like that. They want to know who’s going to be on their side of the ring when the next fight is. They want to know there will be someone to shoulder the blame when shit goes wrong and hits the fan.”

The silence was understanding now. It hit like a wave, rippling across everyone, touching them each in a different way.

“They want accountability.” Natasha broke the quiet, her hushed words like a jackhammer on glass. Tony took a deep breath, nodding.

“What are you suggesting we do about it, Stark?”

Tony tapped lightly on his arc reactor, only thinly concealed by a t-shirt, then stopped. Everyone was watching him again. Thankfully, he’d come prepared for this.

“Give them something.” Tony could see the surprise, and held his hands up, to keep them all quiet for a minute. There’d be time for a Q&A session as soon as he was done. “I’ve been in the news non-stop for the past… okay, for a long time, most recently with the Senate asking for some ‘accountability’ on my part. I brushed it off. That’s what people are used to from me.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re just going to ‘brush it off’ again?”

“No.” Tony gave a small smile, meeting Steve’s gaze now. The supersoldier had been quiet this whole time. Surprisingly. Steve was usually the first one to speak up against him. “There’s one person in here who is used to rallying the troops and gaining support.”

Steve sat up, brows knitting in. Tony couldn’t help but wink again. He really wished he’d gotten some video footage of Steve’s little Captain America rallies from WWII. That was skirting away from the point, though. Back on topic.

“The world already knows my face, and assumes that I will never actually take accountability. It hurts.” Tony pouted, putting a hand on his chest, then gave a little laugh. “But there are other members of our lovely little team, and let’s face it, Rogers would be a damn good poster boy for us.”

“Thanks.” Steve mumbled that, looking down.

“Frankly, he’s the only one of us who has a completely positive history with the press, and we’d be stupid not to use it.”

All attention turned on Steve. He seemed to be fighting between a smile and frown, but finally looked up, giving a resolute nod.

“Alright. What do I have to do?”


	5. Momentum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here. We. Go.

They had constructed a little stage for him, small compared to the ones he had been used to, but a stage none-the-less. There was a podium on it, for him to put notes if he needed them. He’d been practicing in front of his bathroom mirror for hours, had the speech memorized backwards and forwards, but kept the notes anyway.

It was around five when he got the call. It was just in time for the evening news. That was the plan.

Steve pulled on his gloves, flexing his fingers in the red dyed leather. With a deep breath, he pulled the mask up over his face, wiggling it until it sat right on his nose and around his eyes. He looked in the mirror one last time.

Captain America stared right back at him. He smiled. He could do this.

Grabbing his notes, he got in the elevator, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see the moving illumination on the floor number. It felt like forever, and he would know, but he did his best not to fidget. He had been before crowds before. He had done ridiculous things before crowds before. This would be a snap. Really.

The elevator doors dinged open, unveiling the lobby of Stark Tower.

There were hundreds of people outside. Their signs bobbed in the air, making an angry sea of paper and fists. Through the glass, he could feel their chant.

“What do we want?”

“Accountability!”

“When do we need it?”

“Now!”

Steve licked his lips, staring out at them. This was a mob situation waiting to happen. He could see all the warning signs, hear the alarm bells ringing in his brain. This couldn’t be a good idea.

A foot stuck in the elevator door, stopping it from closing. Mr. Stark slipped half in, giving him a one over. “Come on, Cap, show’s waiting.” He gave a camera ready smile, but it wasn’t at all reassuring. Stark was used to being thrown in shark infested waters. This wasn’t Steve’s arena at all.

Stark waved at him, still keeping up that smile. Steve stepped out of the elevator slowly, camera flashes greeting him. He blinked, fighting not to reach up and shield his eyes. Stark put an arm around his shoulder, squeezing hard.

Right. Smile.

Stark led him through the lobby, out the massive front doors. There was the stage, a line of police officers keeping the crowd back from it. At the base of the stairs, Stark gave him a clap on the shoulder, leaning in to whisper, “We believe in you.” He gave a thumbs up, then stood to the side, hands in his suit pockets like nothing in the world was wrong.

Steve kept his smile on, climbing the steps. The chant died slowly, until everyone was silent. He couldn’t tell if they were surprised, amazed, confused. There were too many camera flashes, too many people holding up cell phones, too many actual news cameras and microphones. Everyone was holding their breath.

He set his notes on the podium and tapped the microphone with a grin. “This thing working?”

The crowd gave a little laugh, and Steve responded with a big, honest smile. He could work a crowd. He’d done it all over the USA before. This was nothing.

“So, you guys and gals might know me as Captain America. There’s been a lot of footage of me on television and the internet.” He glanced down at the notes, then back up again, licking his lips. They felt really dry. Exposed. “Footage of me fighting against the alien invasion here in Manhattan, and of me helping lead the police response to the attack. I’m sure you’ve all seen it if you’re here.”

He let out a little laugh, gripping the podium hard. Everyone was staring at him, posters and banners still for a moment, like they were all holding their breath.

Cameras flickered, flashes making spots appear in his vision. He blinked a few times, clearing his throat quickly.

“That was not the first time I served this great nation in a time of need. And with God as my witness, it won’t be the last.”

“You’re just a freak in a mask!”

“No ma’am.” Steve smiled again, reaching up. He pulled off his mask, pushing it back. He shook his head and straightened his hair, knowing there were tons of cameras flickering, at least a hundred, all soaking it in. “I’m actually Captain Steve Rogers of the U.S. Army. I was recruited for an experimental treatment to make something greater than a normal soldier, in case something greater than a normal villain threatened our way of life.”

Steve took a deep breath, hands clenching. He ignored the notes. There was no way to prepare for something like this. Even the best laid plans would have fallen apart.

“That was in World War Two. That was when the world had a shred of its innocence intact. Innocence isn’t lost. It’s taken. Throughout history, people have tried taking away humanity’s innocence time and again. That attack was no different. And I won’t stand for it. Because as long as there is something worth avenging in this world, I will be here, standing strong, a shield for the helpless, for those who weren’t given a serum to make them stronger and faster, to defend that innocence until it’s permanently safe or I’m dead.”

No one was talking, not even hushed whispers. The flashes of the cameras faded to nothing. He could see microphones drooping, arms sagging as they lowered cell phones. Signs vanished into the crowd.

Steve took a shaky breath, staring out over them.

It was easy to spot movement in the stillness of the crowd, a single woman moving forward against the sea of stone-still bodies. She stopped just behind the police barricade, looking straight up at him.

Her eyes were rimmed in red, cheeks swollen from crying. She stared straight up at him, regardless, the strength of her gaze like a white hot beam.

“If you say that you’re trying to protect us, trying to protect Earth, then why did you stand by and do nothing when the villain who took our innocence left? Why did you stand by and let a murderer, a would be dictator, escape out into space without having to pay for his crimes?”

Here it was.

Murmurs echoed throughout the crowd, shaking his core. Microphones lifted again, a camera flashing from far right.

He could hear footsteps behind him. Stark stepped up onto the stage, sliding in front of the podium. He leaned in close to the microphone, anger coloring his every word.

“How about you get your facts straight? Loki is being punished. Right now. By his own people.”

“How do you know that?” The woman tried to smile, but it cracked. “Do you see it? Or have you just heard?”

Tony took a deep breath; it whistled against the microphone. The murmurs were growing.

The police offers at the front of the barricade were saying something to her. One of them reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off, pointing straight at them.

“We don’t want heroes!” She planted her feet, screaming. “We want justice!”

The crowd surged forward, barricade buckling. Tony turned, grabbing him by the arm. Steve stumbled, then started after him, glancing over his shoulder as the first gunshots rang out.


	6. Hatred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.

The Bifrost shimmered with light, flickering, but it was still there. It was faintest at the palace, the colors barely moving at all. For a moment, he thought he had been staring at it too long, that his vision began to swim, but as he walked, it became stronger, each step lighting up like the great bridge was alive once more.

Thor quickened his pace. Asgard faded into a golden blur around him, swift steps becoming small leaps and bounds as he raced through arches and hanging gardens, past the warrior’s hall and the grand temples.

Water surged past beneath his quick feet, the deep water currents and peaks matching the multicolored thrum of the Bifrost, pulling him along faster.

Twinkling in the last light of the day stood the great dome of the gateway, its curved door wide open.

Thor’s steps slowed. He stopped, staring at it. The great transportation needle pointed straight up, still, every intricate engraving upon it glinting. He looked down, through the doorway, where everything was just as still.

His mouth felt incredibly dry. He glanced over his shoulder, squinting against the distance. In the high towers of the palace he could see a flickering light from his brother’s window, and faintly, just a tiny spot, a moving shadow.

Letting out a shaky breath, Thor turned back to the gateway, squaring his shoulders before he began to walk. Each footfall buzzed with a familiar energy, glowing a bright white as all the colors in the Bifrost’s spectrum faded beneath his weight. He put a hand on Mjölnir’s hilt, the hum of it soothing his frayed nerves.

The central chamber was how he remembered it, vast and ornate and filled with the promise of other worlds. There, at the portal itself, stood Heimdall, back straight, face empty as his amber eyes gazed into the abyss of space.

Thor approached him slowly, even more worried when Heimdall did not so much as move at his presence.

“What do you gaze at so intently, Heimdall?”

Heimdall did not move other than the tightening of his face, the clenching of his hands on the hilt of his mighty sword. Even that much spoke volumes. Heimdall very rarely showed anything at all, his gaze always far away, always at ready should a single voice be raised against Asgard. He would know. He always knew.

Thor stood beside him, casting a worried glance into the abyss. He swallowed roughly, looking away. He could not gaze into that vastness without thinking of Loki’s hand releasing its grip on the scepter.

“What do you see?”

“I see hatred.” The monotone words reverberated through the chamber, a slow creeping chill crawling up his spine. Thor shivered, though the energy of the gate radiated heat.

“Where?”

“Midgard. It is alight with the flames of hatred. Even as I gaze upon other realms, I can feel its heat.”

Thor’s hand shook on Mjölnir’s shaft, knuckles turning white.

He had sworn to protect Midgard. He had sworn to make sure that world was safe, along with all its denizens from any threat which might come along.

He never imagined that threat might be itself.

“What do they hate?” Thor whispered the words, even as he feared them, and the answer they would bring.

“Loki.”

Thor closed his eyes, squeezing them tight as a tremor took his body. He turned. He could not stay here, not with that knowledge. He had to warn the Allfather. He had to warn his brother.

“The Avengers.”

He stopped in the gateway, swiveling slowly. “What?”

“Their hatred knows not good from ill, only what they label justice.”

“The Avengers saved them!”

Heimdall did not move, amber gaze flicking across the stars, seeing past them.

“They hate that they had not the choice to know what is beyond the stars, but that it was forced upon them.” Heimdall’s tone did not change, not much. Still, Thor could hear the sadness in it. “They seek to place blame.”

“So they blame their saviors?”

“They were not ready.”

“Not ready for what?!”

“Salvation.”

0 0 0 0 0

Even though the room was full, it was quiet. Through the expansive windows, he could faintly hear the sounds of sirens. Or maybe it was just the red and blue lights playing across the buildings, playing tricks on him.

“What happened down there?”

Natasha was the one to break the silence. She always was. Bruce glanced up at her, then over to Steve. He was sitting at the breakfast bar, staring blankly into the kitchen, his hands held out on the counter like something would appear in them, like there was some answer there in the red leather.

Bruce finally dragged his gaze to Tony, who leaned on the back of the couch next to him. Tony’s arms were crossed, but he had that same distant look in his eyes.

Neither of them spoke.

Bruce reached over, carefully unwinding Tony’s arms. He clasped his hand, squeezing. He didn’t care that everyone was staring at them. No one would ask questions right now. There were bigger fish to fry.

He squeezed again. Tony sucked in a deep breath, blinking like he had just woken up from a dream. From the look on his face, he could tell it wasn’t a good one.

“Tony, what happened?”

Tony hung his head. Slowly, he reached in his pocket, pulling out his phone. “JARVIS, lights to 20%.”

There was none of the usual conviction in his voice. None of the usual life. Bruce clutched his hand tighter, afraid that if he let go, Tony would dissolve between his fingers. Tony didn’t seem to notice. He pressed a few buttons on his phone and it projected onto the blank wall across the room, everyone but Steve and Tony watching. It was like they had already seen enough.

The angle of the footage suggested the security cameras on the front of Stark Tower, though the sound was too sharp for that. Tony must have been recording the sound from his phone. That wouldn’t surprise him.

When the woman stepped forward, Steve’s head sank into his hands and Tony closed his eyes, breaths short and ragged.

Every good thing Steve had said—and there was so much good in his speech—was unraveled in a matter of seconds. They tried to recover. Bruce leaned into Tony’s side, trying to give him some reassurance, but he just stared down at his phone, a nightmare in his eyes.

The projection cracked and then turned to static.

“What was that?” Natasha breathed out the question, red brows drawing in. She stepped closer to the projection, head tilted to the side. “Can you rewind?”

Tony slid his finger back across the blue screen, and the footage rewound.

There was a gunshot, and the projection cracked, going to static again.

Someone had shot at them. Someone had shot at the heroes who had saved Manhattan, one of whom stopped a Tesseract-fueled radiation fallout catastrophe by downing the plane he was in, with no hope of being rescued, the other of whom had grabbed a live nuclear warhead and flown it into space, when he was certain it would be a one way trip.

Bruce stared at the static screen before it became too much. He grabbed the phone from Tony’s lip hand, pressing the screen until it stopped projecting.

“Fury will want to do a full debriefing in the morning.” Natasha stood from her chair at the table, looking them each over. “Everyone should get some rest. Especially you two.”

Natasha and Clint were the first to leave. It was probably fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, before Steve finally slid off his stool, pressing the down button on the elevator. Bruce didn’t question it. It wasn’t until the door closed that he pulled at Tony’s hand, leading him up the stairs.

Neither of them asked Jarvis to turn on the lights. They walked slowly, Bruce leading, steps slow, careful. He could feel how Tony was dragging his feet through the connection of their hands. Bruce kept going. He had to keep going.

Even when they were in the bedroom, Tony didn’t move. He stood there, that blank stare hurting. Bruce took off Tony’s tie, his suit jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his pants.

Tony crashed into him like a freight train, lips urgent, searing hot against Bruce’s jaw, mashing painfully into his lips. Bruce’s bracelet beeped as his heart rate spiked.

With shaking hands, Bruce tore off the bracelet, then his own shirt. Tony’s hands were everywhere. They were shaking. He grabbed Bruce hard, hard enough to bruise. Bruce didn’t stop him.

They barely hit the bed, limbs tangled, rough hands combing through his hair, teeth scraping his neck, his shoulder. Bruce threw his head back as Tony pushed into him, rocking with a feral sort of desperation. Short nails dragged across his back, pulling him tighter, so tight it felt like they would fuse.

Tony came with a cry, burying his face into Bruce’s shoulder. He stayed there, quaking, sweat cooling on their skin. Bruce didn’t try to move him. His shoulder was wet. Bruce wrapped his arms tighter around Tony, rubbing a hand up his back, each stroke slower until Tony stopped shaking, falling asleep.

He could still hear that gunshot, in the back of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see that bullet colliding with the camera.

Bruce nuzzled his face into Tony’s hair, refusing to let go. He wouldn’t be able to sleep. He didn’t want to. The Other Guy didn’t want him to either. Bruce could hear his roars of rage echoing behind each crack of that gunshot, and he couldn’t go to sleep, because Tony might be gone.


	7. Boiling Point

She tied the scarf under her chin with deft fingers, craning her neck to secure it. It effectively concealed the communicator at her ear, as well as most of her hair, though a few crimson locks still jutted out. That was fine. She grabbed the large, black sunglasses, pushing them over her eyes. Slowly, carefully, she reapplied her lipstick, the lines smooth and perfect. It was the shade of blood.

She wouldn’t be recognizable, in a black dress with a long black coat over it, tied at the waist, sleek black leather gloves and matching heels.

Natasha turned from the mirror, hands in her pockets. No one looked at her as she passed. Everyone was on edge. The S.H.I.E.L.D. floor’s usual hum of activity was just a faint buzzing, mostly caused by that many computers in an enclosed space. She could hear the news broadcasts being played over before the elevator shut.

The Stark Tower was on lockdown. Only necessary personnel were allowed into the building. No one was allowed out without a security escort. She had her ways. Natasha watched as the floors lit up on the display, number shrinking. The light disappeared at the ground level, the elevator continuing down into unmarked territory.

The elevator opened to plain concrete walls and thick pylons. She stepped out, the click of her heels echoing as she walked. The security level was thriving, hidden like an ant hill and just as busy, right beneath everyone’s eyes. Natasha lifted her security badge as one man addressed her, not stopping, not even taking her other hand out of her pocket.

They let her pass. She hurried down a stairwell, rounding a corner. There was a metal door with a security pad. She typed in her number, swiping her card. After a few moments, she heard the lock snap. She yanked open the door, slipping inside quickly.

The lights came on, flickering at first, though soon everything was blown out with white fluorescents. A thin layer of dust covered the floor. No one had been there since the space had been remodeled. She kept walking, barely glancing to the side as she passed one holding cell after another.

The biggest was at the end of the room, circular, reinforced glass with a thin, almost invisible titanium alloy weave inside it. It was designed to buckle, to give, but not break. There was a patrician in the middle, specifically designed for an interrogator to be inside and still be safe.

Natasha looked down, pursing her lips. With how things were going, it felt like any one of them could end up in there.

Shaking her head, she turned left, down another hallway and set of stairs. She swiped keyed her number again, swiping her card. Three security doors later and she was in the Stark Industries parking garage, a few blocks from the Tower itself.

She smiled to herself as she wound her way through the complex, slipping out on a side street.

Natasha pressed lightly against the side of her head, like she was trying to muffle the noise of the street, talking quietly. “I’m out.”

The other side of the line crackled, then finally her response came. “I’m in position. I’ve got a good view of the protestors from here. The crowd seems pretty docile right now.”

“I’m flagging down a cab now.” She raised her hand, waving. The yellow car slowed, pulling over at the first available gap. She walked over slowly, sliding in the back seat. “Central Park, please.”

The man leaned back over his seat with a frown. “Joinin’ in the protest?”

Natasha gave him a smile, but didn’t say anything.

He grumbled, and pulled back into traffic. Natasha watched the buildings go by with mock interest. It was a week day, and not during the usual lunch hour, so it was quieter than she liked. There were not as many people to blend in among. She pursed her lips, staring at her own reflection on the glass. She could be any one of them. They wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

Paying, she slipped out of the cab.

Metal barricades ringed the park, police officers in full riot gear patrolling the perimeter. Natasha whisked an errant strand of hair back, glancing up at the rooftops. She couldn’t see Clint, but he was there somewhere, watching, ready.

She really hoped he wouldn’t be needed.

Tucking her purse tight under her arm, she slipped through the barricade, walking straight for the throng of people.

Signs littered park benches and the ground, people lounging on the grass and against trees. Clusters of people ate. She wound her way past them, listening to each little conversation. People were talking about the weather, about sports, about what they ate the night before. She ducked her head, carrying on faster.

The center of the group was near.

They had set up a table, people leaning over it, writing in bold marker and paints on any bit of cardboard brought to them. She skirted around the edge of them, pausing at one of the gaps.

One of the women turned. Natasha recognized her from the press conference. She smiled, and the woman smiled back, waving for her to come closer.

“You want a sign?”

Natasha nodded, clutching her purse tighter. She approached with slow steps. The woman laughed, a small laugh. Her cheeks were still puffy. Natasha kept it up, the persona of a shy but concerned civilian, afraid to stand up, but there anyway. She looked away, out at the street. There was a glint on the rooftop. Her eyes were concealed, so it looked like she was just considering leaving.

“It’s okay. We have a First Amendment Right to free speech.” The woman laid a hand on her shoulder. Natasha smiled again. The woman pulled lightly, guiding Natasha over to the table. “You been watching the news?”

“Can’t escape it.” Natasha shrugged, looking down at the signs.

Justice. Accountability. No more secrets.

She took it all in quickly, filing it away from later. The button on her jacket was recording. Everyone in the control room would be able to see it.

“That’s great.” The woman let out a half laugh, smoothing out a piece of bent cardboard. She started writing up another sign.

Natasha leaned over, acting interested. No one suspected.

“What do you want to happen?” Natasha turned just slightly, so the hidden camera would be able to see the woman’s face. She’d be put in a database with all the others once she got back. “What’s our end goal?”

The woman’s smile fell for a moment. She tapped the marker on the cardboard. “They need to bring the war criminal back, so he can be put on trial.” She let out a shaky sigh, writing again with harsh, hard-pressed strokes.

Natasha knew. Loki had killed someone the woman loved. Maybe just the army, maybe just all the damage and destruction around it, but in the end, it was Loki’s fault. Eighty people in two days, before the invasion even started; which one was her’s?

“Do you think that will make everyone happy?”

The woman closed her eyes, shoulders shaking. Natasha held her ground, voice stronger this time.

“Will it?”

“None of us have any closure and—”

“Killing him won’t bring any of them back.”

The market snapped, little cracks running up its shaft. Natasha glanced back up at the roof. She rolled her lips together, carefully not to smudge her lipstick. That didn’t release any of the tension. Far from it.

She needed to get out of there.

There were people all around them now, pressing in close to hear. They were waiting with baited breath, waiting for the crash to happen. Human curiosity was a morbid trait. It didn’t do any of them a service.

“It’s a start.”

Natasha shook her head. “What, so he takes someone from you, so you return the favor?” She should stop. This wasn’t her fight to pick. She stepped forward, voice seething. “Revenge and justice are two completely different things. I know, first hand, what revenge can do to a person.”

“And what is that?”

“You’ll never be able to get over the guilt. Never be able to wash the blood of your hands. It’ll keep you up at night—”

The woman laughed. It was a horrible, broken thing. “Then nothing will be different.”

“Hey lady, if you don’t support the cause, get out!”

Natasha swung around, picking through the crowd. It was a sea of angry faces now. She saw a flash, something sharp. Natasha reached up with a shaking hand, pressing it to the side of her face. “Clint…”

“When I say go, get under the table.”

“Okay.”

The crowd pushed in. If she screamed, the police probably wouldn’t even hear it.

It was good that she had other plans.

“Go!”

Natasha dropped, rolling. The arrow hit, slamming into the table. She could see the tip of it. Natasha spun her scarf around, over the lower half of her face, pulling the air filter up under it just as the cartridge exploded.

Smoke filled the air. People coughed, yelled, screamed.

Natasha got on her knees, crawling quickly between legs. The moment she was clear, she started running. She hopped over a small wall, ducking behind it. Quickly, she undid the scarf and mask, shoving them in her purse. She took off her glasses, wiping off her lipstick. Undoing her jacket, she folded it neatly over her arm and put another scarf around her neck, this one green.

No one noticed her in the chaos, no one noticed that she could have been the same person.

They had their answer now.

0 0 0 0 0

“These protests are getting out of hand, Director Fury.”

He laced his hands behind his back, standing firm. The faces of the Council, mostly obscured in shadow, stared at him on flat blue screens. Though he could not see their eyes, he could see their frowns.

“You asked us to trust you with the Avengers Initiative. Did you know what you were starting?”

“The world wasn’t ready.”

“There is violence in the streets. Something has to be done.”

“I’ll make the call.”

“And you want us to trust your decision again?”

“This is the only option we have left.”

He reached forward, disconnecting the session. All of the screens flickered out, leaving just the glass of them behind.

It was time to make a very important call.


	8. Helpless

The first experimental run of the Bifrost had yielded promising data. Loki stared at the diagram, complete now. Slowly, he reached into it, pulling off the outer shell, exposing all its inner workings. He turned the glowing diagram in his hands, the golden light of its lines reflecting in his eyes. There were only minor changes which needed to be made, Loki quickly finding the cylinders which needed to be a breath wider, editing the diagram with magic encased fingers.

Quickly, he put it back together, tapping the diagram. The device began to spin, needle pointing downwards, aiming. Loki held his breath as he watched, light gathering around the diagram. It was a spectacular representation, the finest details accounted for, enough that he could run tests on it.

Forging new cylinders would only take a day, and after enchanting them, they could replace the faulty parts. In two days time, they would be able to conduct the next experimental trial. Loki was certain it would work.

The doors swung open behind him, loud footsteps accompanied by the click of metal and metal alerting him.

Loki turned.

It was Thor. Who else would it have been? He had no visitors. No one dared disturb him. Or rather, no one wished to be disturbed by him. It was better that way.

Soon enough, the Bifrost would be complete, the terms of his service completed in what had to have been legendary time. He had heard the whispers around the banquet table, around the construction site. Wonder. There was nothing short of wonder in their words.

“What do you want, Thor?”

“Guards, leave us.” Thor glanced at both of them, voice stern and commanding. The resolution Loki heard there was… surprising.

Loki let the diagram dissipate. He was certain he would need his full concentration for this.

The moment the guards were outside, the doors clicking shut, Thor started forward. Loki frowned, and Thor’s steps stopped, keeping him a little further than arm’s length away. It did not feel far enough.

Was that fear, he sensed?

Loki took slow steps, circling Thor. Fear was not a mantle Thor had worn in his presence before. It suited him ill. “What happened?”

Thor flexed his hand. Loki could see the imprint of Mjölnir’s shaft upon his palm. Thor always took comfort in the weight of Mjölnir in his hand when there was something unsettling. It was like a worry stone.

“I fear.”

Loki took a deep breath, those words, those two simple words, shaking him to his core. He flexed his hand, magic sparking across his fingers, soothing, just like the great uru hammer was to Thor.

“I do not think I will be able to protect you in the coming storm.”

“What storm?” Loki stopped his slow circle, uncertainty flashing across his features before he could rein it in. He composed his mask, slipping it on like a second skin. “Have I not done everything the Allfather asked of me? Have I not given Asgard back its life-link to the Nine Realms? Done it a great service?!”

Thor closed his eyes. His fingers brushed the hilt of his hammer again, a ghosting touch.

This was… this was bad. He could feel it in his bones. There was a sudden cold, gripping at his throat, clawing to drag him down.

“I protected you from the full wrath of our father. I…” Thor’s hand slid down, carefully, fingers flexing over the grip. “Midgard. I fear I cannot protect you from the full wrath of Midgard.”

“What have I to fear of the mortals?”

Thor’s jaw tightened. Over the oppressive silence, Loki could hear the grind of teeth. “You saw firsthand how strong they could be.”

“That was but a handful, and they gave their blessings.” Loki turned towards his desk, straightening the stacks of Bifrost drawings and calculations which scattered the polished wooden surface. It was something to keep his hands busy. It was a futile attempt at distraction.

“Loki, please, you must trust me—”

“What would that do, Thor? Trust you, accept that my life is in peril, after everything I have done, that there is _nothing_ which could stop this? Am I to abandon all hope?!” He clenched his fists, fighting hard to still the quakes which took him, to steel his heart.

“Loki—”

“Leave.” Loki straightened his shoulders, lifting his head. He would take this with dignity. “If these are to be my last days here on Asgard, I would spend them in peace.”

“No. We must speak with our father, warn him of what Heimdall saw.”

“You have not spoken of this to the Allfather yet?”

Silence was answer enough. Loki should not have even asked. He knew Odin had council with the hall of warriors for the entire day, and would no doubt have wanted to spend the rest of his day in solitude.

“What does Midgard really want with me, Thor? What is it they seek?” Loki could guess, but he would rather just know, without a doubt. As soon as the Bifrost was finished, he would be a full citizen of Asgard again, and as such, he would be protected as one. Two more days. They needed two more days.

“Blood.”

Of course. Loki cracked a smile, a small laugh escaping before he could help it. He leaned forward on the desk, hands gripping hard enough at the wood to indent it. “How many lives do you think I ruined?”

Once again, the silence was telling.

“Tell me, _brother_. How many? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? A thousand?”

“Enough.”

Loki took a sharp breath. Enough. That spoke volumes. Enough to matter. Enough to hurt. Enough to be irreversible. Thor could mean any number of things with that, but none of them promised safety. In fact, they promised quite the opposite.

“You were safe in Asgard because the Allfather had a use for your skills.” Thor let his hammer drop back down, swinging at his side. “It will not be the same in Midgard.”

Loki spun, but Thor was already vanishing down the hall, guards returning to their posts. His only chance went with him.

0 0 0 0 0

His feet touched the ground before the helicopter did, boots crunching into the hard baked dirt. The sun had just gone down, leaving the desert landscape lit with an orange, almost radioactive looking glow. Thankfully, it only looked that way. It wasn’t like they were down at White Sands.

New Mexico. Fury took in a deep breath, and it practically burned. It was hotter than hell out there, but he was still in his leather trench, well protected. As soon as the last light of the sun faded, it was going to get colder than Dante’s version of hell out there.

He’d rather not be there when the temperature dropped, though, so he jogged away from the helicopter.

There, still pressed in the dirt, was an impression of the Bifrost. It was still intact. He wasn’t surprised. He stepped out onto the pattern, stopping only when he was at its center.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his gaze to the emerging stars. They were really bright out there. As spectacular of a view as it was, he still had a strict schedule. Time to get on with it.

“Heimdall, I know you can hear me up there. I need you to deliver a message to the Allfather for me, and do it quick.” Fury frowned up at the sky, hands tucked behind him. There was no answer, but he didn’t exactly expect some thundering voice to come down on him or a portal to open up in the sky. Who knew how long it would take for their rainbow bridge to be done so they could prance on back to Earth, but this had to be done.

“We need Loki. In chains, preferably. If you don’t provide him with some, we will, and it won’t be pretty.” Fury kept glaring. Finally, he sighed. “It was nice chattin’ with you. I hope to hear back from you soon.”

Fury gave a nod, then turned, walking back to the waiting helicopter. He guessed they would know soon enough if his call had gone through.


	9. A Safer World

Twenty holographic screens hovered around him, each moving with life, scrolling words and video footage. It was muted, but each of them spoke louder that way. Tony turned, one arm crossed over his chest, his other hand scratching idly at his beard.

“JARVIS, remove the files I have already reviewed.”

Twelve screens vanished. Eight remained, hovering at different heights all around him, a digital halo.

“Let’s start with the oldest, work our way up.”

The square behind him grew, expanding until every detail was crystal clear, easy to read. Tony turned, facing it with a frown. He started reading.

0 0 0 0 0

The click of heels across the room made him sit up, correcting his posture. Pulling his glasses down, Bruce glanced over his shoulder.

That wasn’t Natasha.

Pepper stood in the mouth of the hallway, a clipboard under her arm. She stared, face impassive. Bruce looked away quickly, smoothing out the newspaper in front of him.

If he concentrated hard enough, maybe she would assume he was busy.

There was no such luck.

Pepper sat on the stool at the far end of the counter, setting her clip board down lightly. There were two stools between them, like a safety barrier. Bruce couldn’t tell if it was because she was afraid of him or because of Tony.

Bruce tried swallowing back the bitter taste in the back of his mouth, taking a long gulp from his water. She did not say anything, hands folded on the counter, facing the wall. Her posture was rigid, perfect, strawberry blond hair pulled back in a flawless ponytail. Bruce caught himself straightening his own unruly curls before he could stop himself.

“Dr. Banner…”

“Miss Potts…”

0 0 0 0 0

Tony flicked another screen out of the way, its crumbling into static before vanishing all together. Jarvis enlarged the next window, Tony standing absolutely still. He had a glass in his hand now, half full with ice, half with scotch. His lips rested on the rim as he read, eyes flicking over line after line.

Well, this report certainly explained where Clint and Natasha had been the other day. Tony frowned. It almost looked like S.H.I.E.L.D. was trying to bait the protestors into a full out mob.

He pointed a finger, flipping it up. The page scrolled, revealing the rest of the report. From the images interspersed, and the little video file, he knew it was his and Steve’s favorite blond woman from the press conference. He took another sip, relishing in the burn as he swallowed.

The police had to move in after the smoke went off. Tony didn’t like his designs getting used against civilians. That had been part of the contract, when he’d designed Clint’s equipment. This wasn’t right.

Tony flicked that report to the side as well, waiting for Jarvis to catch up. He needed to run an update on the system, add in a few more fail-safes and locks. He didn’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D. being on the same server as Stark Industries.

0 0 0 0 0

Her hands were a better place to look than anywhere else. She hadn’t planned on stopping here. She knew where Tony was. She had a stack of papers for him to sign. Time was ticking. She couldn’t get up, though. Now that she was sitting here, had actually addressed him, there was no turning back.

Pepper turned her hands over, staring at her nails for a moment. Bruce rustled his newspaper next to her. It was obvious he wasn’t going to say anything more unless prompted, and she couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t exactly said a word to him since she’d broken it off with Tony.

She wondered how long it took for Tony to make his move. She was sure he’d been the one to do it. Bruce seemed pretty shy, reserved. She wouldn’t have pegged him as the type to put out, and Tony had never really had patience for that.

It was a miracle they were still together.

She frowned, finally letting her gaze drift over. There was a bracelet on his left wrist. It looked like a watch at first, with its little glass screen, Stark Industries tech blue. The display had different sets of numbers, none of which matched the actual time.

The sight of it put a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Did he make that for you?”

0 0 0 0 0

He flicked another news report to the side. It was all the same story. He drained the last of his glass, balancing the empty thing on his arm as he watched the next panel pop up. Static showed on the screen, distorted voices speaking gibberish. Tony frowned.

“Encrypted?”

“Yes, Sir. There are three levels of encryption on this file, as well as two security codes and a contingency to degrade the file if the first two levels of encryption are broken.”

Tony walked back over to the table, setting his glass down and picking up his tablet. “Challenge accepted.”

0 0 0 0 0

Bruce touched the bracelet, running his fingers over the cool metal. His thumb ran over the emergency latch, but didn’t open it. A quick glance at the numbers told him his heart rate and all his chemical levels were stable.

“Yeah.”

He could feel her staring at the bracelet. He opened his mouth to explain, to make an excuse, but stopped.

Tony had said more than once that he needed to stop making excuses. He needed to stop running.

This situation was no different.

“He did.”

“How sweet.” There was a dark note to her words. “Was it a birthday?”

Bruce shook his head. “No. First date.”

Her gaze flicked away for a moment, hands turning over again. “And how long did that take? A day?”

Bruce took a shaky breath. The first time they kissed, that had been… the day she broke up with him. That just made him feel horrible. “Two weeks, I guess. Maybe longer. I wasn’t exactly counting down.”

“Tony Stark waited two weeks for a date?”

He could hear the disbelief in her voice and it made him angry. His bracelet beeped. She didn’t even jump.

0 0 0 0 0

Code unraveled at his fingertips, each layer of encryption unpeeling before him. Tony glanced up now and then, making sure he did not trigger the virus. The first layer had been quick, the second taking longer, each prod delicate, slow as to not trip any extra coding. He got in just far enough to find the code which would melt the original file and cut it off, isolating and destroying what must have taken months of work in the matter of minutes.

The third layer was like the first. No one had expected the second to be conquered.

Tony let out a dark laugh, pressing play on the file.

The faces of people materialized on screens, the silhouette of none other than Nick Fury standing before them. Tony’s frown only grew as he listened.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was caving.

Tony grabbed the holographic screen, dropping it onto his tablet. Jarvis took the hint and loaded it up.

0 0 0 0 0

She took a deep, centering breath, lips pressed into a thin, defiant line as she stared at the kitchen faucet. Every time she looked over at the reserved doctor, she could feel her resolve crumbling. She had to save face.

After all, she had told Tony they could keep him. She had welcomed Bruce into the Stark Tower. She had even been glad when she saw them interact. Tony finally had someone who could keep up with his mind, someone who spoke his language.

Hadn’t that blown up in her face?

Pepper tried to smile, even as she caught herself pressing on her bare ring finger. Right. Tony Stark. Notorious playboy. Pepper had taken out the trash more times than she could count, had seen the parade on the walk of shame out of his mansion for years. He wasn’t the proposing type.

Then again, he’d never been the ‘wait two weeks’ type, either.

“Is it love?”

0 0 0 0 0

He threw the tablet down on the desk, towering over it. Fury turned in his chair slowly, looking from Tony’s face down to the tablet with a raised eyebrow. Tony reached forward, pressing play. His stern glare didn’t flicker, even as Fury’s good eye widened and he sat forward with interest.

“Impressive.”

“You know I’m not here to discuss my computer skills.”

“No shit.”

Tony clenched his fist, but didn’t respond to that, letting the footage play back in whole. Fury didn’t look all that interest, but humored him. As soon as it was done, the Director leaned back in his chair, training his one eye back on Tony.

He didn’t flinch back, leaning forward. “Why?”

“I had to make a call.”

Tony took in a seething breath, holding it. His heart was pounding, adrenalin gripping his system like an angry vice. “You gave in.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit you didn’t, Nick. Come on, you know what this will lead to—”

“And what would that be, Mr. Stark?” Fury stared him down, not giving an inch. “To a long overdue trial of a war criminal?”

“It’s more than that.”

Fury gave a noncommittal shrug. “Then you’d better get ready.”

Tony straightened, slowly. His fists still shook at his sides, nails digging red crescents into his palms. “What?”

“For our favorite Asgardian becoming a new resident of the Stark Tower.”

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t act dumb, Stark. The security level is the only place I would actually trust to keep someone as dangerous as Loki. So you better start getting ready.”

0 0 0 0 0

He lifted his glass, but it was empty. Bruce turned it in his hand, ice clicking against its walls. He tried to open his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue felt heavy, like lead.

It was a simple question.

Or was it?

If it was really such a simple question, he wouldn’t be feeling like he was walking around land mines.

There was that sticky note. The one with the heart. There had been other playful banter, all thinly veiled with numbers and equations, as if that would somehow make it safe. In a way, it did.

“I don’t think this world is safe enough for that.” Bruce set his glass down, sighing. “Not yet.”

Pepper nodded in his periphery, slipping off her stool. He could hear the click of her heels fading. Bruce ran his hands up over his face, sagging into the counter.

He wasn’t sure if the world would ever be that safe.


	10. Broken Promises

His own workshop had become an unfamiliar place. Tony stood at the head of his main work table, staring down at it with a clenched jaw. His shield prototype, schematics for it, and various parts covered the entire surface. It was a device to protect people.

The rest of his workshop was much the same. Devices to protect people. Ever since Afghanistan, that was all he had worked on. He had built a shield to protect those who could not protect themselves. Mark I-VII of the Iron Man suit was his shield.

He’d made a promise.

So had Fury.

Tony leaned down, shoving his arms across his worktable. Parts flew everywhere. The shield tipped over the edge, crashing to the floor. Everything clear, he pulled a roll of paper out, spreading it, marker flying with abandon as plan after plan appeared in bold black ink before him.

There was the promise of destruction in those equations. Every one of them.

He didn’t stop. He never really had.

0 0 0 0 0

He could hear them coming for him.

Loki closed the tome before him, smoothing his hand over the intricate leather cover. He let out a slow breath, wetting his lips. He lifted his head, straightening his shoulders, his posture, staring at the gilded wall before him.

The footsteps of the guards were thundering, even beyond his closed door.

They were finally coming for him.

0 0 0 0 0

The hum of machines filled the silence, taking the place of the music which would normally be blaring through the speakers. Bruce stood in the doorway, gaze quickly sweeping over the workshop. He couldn’t see Tony, but he could hear the shower running.

Bruce took a step inside. There were parts everywhere. He knelt, fingers brushing across the tiny arc reactor he had helped Tony make, then the shield he had been working on for what felt like months.

Carefully, Bruce edged around the wreckage. There were half worked plans everywhere, things Bruce had never seen before. With just the floating numbers, he couldn’t tell what went to what. It was disjointed, incomplete, manic.

Something slid onto the floor.

Bruce spun, staring at the machines. He walked over quickly, kneeling before them. It looked like cloth had fallen out of the machines, but when he picked it up, he felt a shock go up his arms, fingers humming. He ran his fingers across it, the material cold yet warm, inorganic yet so alive. It was mostly golden in color, though even that seemed to be shifting, lighter and darker even as he held it still in shaking hands.

The shower cut off.

Bruce stood hastily. He felt like he was intruding. Trespassing. He turned, hurrying out just before he heard the door open.

0 0 0 0 0

Fury stared at his own reflection in the glass, unblinking, hands clasped behind his back, still wrapped around the grip of his pistol. A pleased smile crept onto his face, only showing as a slight twitch before him.

The white lights in the room were almost blinding, washing out the color of the concrete, of the circular cell itself. Even so, he could still see that there were no chips in the glass, no cracks, even after he had emptied an entire clip into it.

It would have to do, because very soon, he hoped, that cell would be Loki’s new home.

0 0 0 0 0

The energy crackling around the Bifrost died, making the fine hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. The messenger emerged, carrying what looked like a thin piece of white parchment.

Loki stared at that page, with its tiny black ink, wishing he could rip it from the messenger’s hands, read its whole.

The messenger dropped to one knee before Odin, extending the white square up. “Allfather, the one known as Director Fury has burdened me with this message.”

Odin’s good eye flicked down to the parchment, scanning over the page’s contents. His gaze slid to Loki for a moment. Loki’s breath caught, but he quickly covered, keeping his mask cool, indifferent.

“What is it, Father?” Thor stepped forward, turning his head so he might see what the ink said. Odin quickly made the paper vanish, Thor seeming to forget about it all together. Loki had to fight not to say anything; he could still feel the presence of the parchment, tucked in Odin’s belt, but it was invisible.

Loki knew that trick all too well.

“Nothing which can be discussed here. Come. There is much I must consider in the coming days.”

Loki could tell a lie, even from so skilled a liar as Odin. He knew the Allfather had already made his decision. He could hear it in the thin cord of tension in his voice, the pulse of the vein upon his brow. Loki knew the signs.

With so many ears and eyes upon them, so many guards hovering, there was nothing he could say.

This would not be the first time Odin had broken a promise to his _dear_ younger son. Loki knew it would not be the last.


End file.
